Legacies
Scouring a planet took time, effort, and no small degree of resources. Though the majority of the Covenant’s efforts were focused on major population centers, fringe settlements and less-populated cities were still hit—and hit hard—by the initial assault. David knelt, sifting through the rubble and ruin of a military convoy, searching for anything that hadn’t already been looted by his fellow scavs. He picked up a half-melted SMG, struggled with the magazine for about four seconds, then tossed it away when it became clear that it wasn’t going to slip out of the warped receiver. Standing up, David hopped up onto the scorched chassis of a Warthog, looking under the dash on both sides, then in the back, then even underneath it, for anything he had missed. The backpack he carried was heavy with valuable items; water, food, medicine, but he still needed more if he was going to survive. All that was left to do was pray that his hidey hole was deep enough to survive the plasma. A buzz sounded out inside his helmet. The robotic voice of the Superintendent piggybacked on his comms gear. “Please remain calm,” it said. “Civilian evacuation efforts are underway.” “Yeah, bullshit.” David hefted his pack up over his shoulder and looked around. A shroud descended on the ruined, listing buildings. Half pulverised brick dust, half ash. It covered everything in a fine film of grey. David had to dig through around a half inch layer each time he looked for something out on the street, and even a few times inside. No surface was spared from the detritus, and it made him all the more grateful for his enclosed MP helmet he had ‘procured’ from someone who no longer needed it. The only complaint he had about his new armour was the constant connection to the Superintendent Service, which still updated, even though the city was half burned to the ground. “Oi, mate!” David swung around, hand going to the holster where he kept his ancient M6 service pistol. He grabbed it, tried to yank it from the holster, but his fingers fumbled. He turned towards the source of the voice, keeping one hand on the holster, struggling with the button. “Whoa now,” a man, scraggly and half-caked in ash, stepped out of the shadows, over an exposed piece of rebar. He held his hands up in a placating gesture. David scanned him for weapons, beside a rusty metal bar on his back, the man had none. The scraggly man waved a hand at him from the entrance of the alleyway. “C’mere,” he said. “I wanna talk to ya.” David took a step back towards a crumbled brick wall. “I’d rather not.” The man said nothing. Did nothing. Just studied David with narrow eyes. “What you doin’ out here? I thought all the military were gone,” he said. Shaking his head, David took another step back. He scanned to his left and right, wary of an ambush. “I’m not military,” he replied. “Ooh,” the man licked the inside of his cheek, motioning at David. “Ripped that gear right off a corpse, didya?” “That’s right.” David nodded. His blunt tone gave away nothing, and the reflective visor of the MP’s helmet gave away nothing to the man. “You’re one hard lad then, aye?” the man took a step forward. “Real soldier boy.” David held up a finger. “You stay the hell away from me.” “Or what?” The man took another step forward. Clenching his jaw, David succeeded in undoing the strap. A police issue sidearm came out of the holster—David’s family heirloom that hadn’t seen service for fifty years. He pulled the hammer back and aimed it at the man. “Or maybe I shoot you in the goddamn head, how about that!” “Okay, okay,” the man backed up, holding his hands up again. “I got you. Just that we should really stick together.” “No.” David said. The man slumped his shoulders and sighed. “Not even gonna hear me out?” “No.” David repeated, flicking the barrel of the pistol. “Walk away.” “Look, I’m part of a group of survivors.” The man stepped over a felled iron cross beam. “We could use an extra hand.” “I don’t care.” David straightened his hand, brought his other one over to support his other hand when it started to ache from holding the gun for so long. “Not interested.” The man hummed, and nodded. “You might wanna rethink that.” “And why’s that?” David looked left and right. “I don’t see anyone else here.” Laughing, the man chewed on his cheek. “That’s because they’ve been getting into position while I distracted you.” ”Please remain calm, civilian evacuation efforts are underway.” his helmet bleeped, and David wheeled around just in time for a sledgehammer-like force to slam into his chest. He fell backwards, squeezing off a round at the scraggly man. The recoil almost broke his wrist, and he thought he heard a second shot, though the blood rushing through his ears and the panic made him unsure. The man he fired at slipped down the pile of trash and debris, unscathed. David rolled back, narrowly missing a second shot that kicked up pulverised concrete. He rolled down the incline, behind the crumbled brick wall. Silence. He checked his magazine—six rounds left. He accidentally fired twice. David cursed. “Nice flub on the first shot, Eaves.” He heard voices, one from the man, one from an unknown source. “Oh piss off.” The second voice said. “Oi! You in there! Walk away from this!” “Why?” David called back. “So you can track me to my shelter? Rob me blind? Slit my throat in my sleep?” He laughed. “No chance!” He groaned, cradling his chest where he was hit. The ballistic armour saved his life, but he was still wheezing from the impact. He thanked his lucky stars that they were using weapons just as outdated and underpowered as his. “Please remain calm. Civilian evacuation efforts—” David slammed his helmet back against the wall to shut it up, only succeeding in making his own head throb with a dull pain. The superintendent didn’t finish. “We just want your stuff. Walk away, give us that armour of yours, and you can even keep your gun.” The second voice said. “You’ll just have to kill me for it!” David looked out over the wall and saw something shift around the side of the pile. He shot at it, and it scrambled backwards. They were going to try and flank him. “You’re not gonna die for a few bullets and a pack of rations!” The voice shouted at him. “Try me!” David shouted right back, his gun-arm shaking. Two rounds hit the brick wall beside his head, and David fell back. His wrist went back to support him, landing on some loose bricks and causing him to topple back. He winced as his wrist twisted sharply to one side. More gunfire. From at least two people, maybe even three. David held the gun up, resting his head on the top slide. “Why won’t you just let it go?!” David growled. “Why do YOU want it so bad?!” “Because WE have mouths to feed, unlike YOU!” David tensed. “You have no idea what I have to lose!” David peeked around the corner and saw a bright red bar swing for his face. He didn’t have time to duck, and the rusted, twisted rebar smacked him square across the chin. The helmet came loose, skittering across the floor as David stumbled onto his back, dazed and reeling. The man above him raised the bar for another strike. David raised his hand, but found it absent his weapon. He twisted his upper body to one side, and the bar struck concrete. David kicked the man’s chest with his boot, and the scraggly man fell back. He hit the pile of debris and gasped, clutching at his arm, where a three inch piece of sharpened metal protruded obscenely from a wound. “Bastard!” The man jumped at David. “Brian! I can’t get a shot!” The second man crested the top of the pile, while Brian straddled David’s chest, grabbing at David with angry, desperate hands. David scrambled back until Brian picked up his chest and slammed him back against the ground once, then twice. He let the chest plate drop and grabbed David’s throat instead. The man gasped as the air was driven from his crushed throat. He was going to die. His hand closed around something, and he desperately swung it up at the scraggly man’s head. It connected with a wet crunch. David looked at what he had hit the man with, and found his sidearm, freshly coated with a splattering of blood. Before the scraggly corpse could drop to the floor, David took aim at the second man, atop his pile of refuse, and squeezed the trigger. The shot hit dead-center in the man’s stomach, and he doubled over immediately at the pain, dropping the antique hunting rifle that he was carrying. He rolled over the side of the hill as David fired again. Panting, breathing in stale, dusty air tinged with a coppery aftertaste, David allowed himself a few moments to collect himself. Nothing moved. Not him, the scraggly corpse, the man he had just shot from somewhere behind the pile, nothing. Even the air stilled. He picked up his helmet, put it on his head, and twisted it to form a seal. The visor winked back on. It filtered out the ash, and the smell of blood and shit. Please remain calm. Civilian evacuation efforts are underway. When the man beside him twitched, David didn’t think twice about putting the gun to the back of his skull and firing. There were no more twitches after that. He walked up the pile of debris towards the sounds of cursing, sobbing, and shifting stone. The man—Eaves, his name was—held up a blood soaked hand, the other one desperately clutching his wound. “Please…” he rasped. “My family… they won’t last without me.” David didn’t say a word. The reflective orange visor gave the man nothing, except the bright white letters, scrolling across the surface; Please remain calm. Civilian evacuation efforts are underway. David raised his old pistol and shot him in the head. Category:SilverLastname Category:The Weekly Category:Short stories